


Learn To Live With What You Are

by angelgazing



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-01
Updated: 2010-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 21:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelgazing/pseuds/angelgazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt had always been different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learn To Live With What You Are

Kurt had always been different. He was different before he knew what different was. When he was in kindergarten, sitting with the girls and fingering the lace of Rachel Berry's plum and pink stripped dress; when he was twelve, trying on obnoxious sunglasses with Mercedes in _Claire's_; when he was fourteen, and watching baseball with his dad, shifting in his seat at the way the uniform pants fit the players—he'd always been different, and he'd always _known_.

So maybe he didn't escape every cliché, and maybe he spent an embarrassing summer listening to Pink at an obnoxious volume. Applying eyeliner in the bathroom mirror, and scrubbing it off thirty seconds later, shame and something else—something exciting—warring in his belly. He'd hum about being someone else, sometimes, his mouth twisted down in a way that was sure to give him wrinkles, as his dad awkwardly tried to ask about his day.

Nothing changed—except for him. Somewhere in there—between learning to walk in Mercedes' high-heeled Chuck Taylors and an ill-advised grapefruit and Diet Coke diet, between his first Alexander McQueen and the fifth time he was tossed in a dumpster, the song always buzzing under his skin became something different, too.

Kurt held his head high as he walked down the halls, skin faintly pink from another cherry Slushie and his math homework slightly damp. It was like waking up brand new one day, out of nowhere. Karofsky bumped his shoulder, and Kurt rolled his eyes. In Spanish, he wrote _through accepting limits_ on the inside of his wrist in purple eyeliner, just under the soft white leather of his fingerless glove, and smiled as Mr. Schue droned on, because nothing—not even this, not all the differences in the world—was ever gonna bring him down.


End file.
